Observations
by B.L.A. the Mouse
Summary: Tyr observed all of those in the crew, but it was Harper who proved the hardest to understand.


Summary: Tyr observed all of those in the crew, but it was Harper who proved the hardest to understand.

Pairings: Tyr/Harper

Disclaimer: Tribune owns all rights to _Andromeda_.

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: "Its Hour Come Round at Last"/"The Widening Gyre"

Setting: Early second season.

Feedback: Please! Praise and constructive criticism welcome. Flames will be brandished at trolls.

Archive: Ask first and I'll probably say yes.

Author's Note: Not much to say here. Just something that I wanted to play with a little.

**Observations**

**By B.L.A. the Mouse**

Tyr observed all of those who constituted the merry band he had fallen in with. To know them was to know upon whom he could rely. It was to know how to press their weaknesses if need be, and how to turn their strengths to his advantage. Truly, it was the Nietzschean thing to do, and Nietzschean he was, to his core.

He was to realize that the Magog had an unhealthy fascination with the humans that would otherwise be his food animals. It became quickly apparent that the purple girl was a far more dangerous creature than she appeared, and that she could anticipate what no one else could. The ship was fiercely loyal to her captain and prejudiced against Tyr himself; it was a useful tool, but a great deal of effort was required to manipulate it in his favor. The captains, both the ship's and the pirate, had admirably Nietzschean moments, Dylan determined to shape the universe in his image and Beka concerned first with her own wellbeing and that of the _Maru_'s clan. Their weaknesses were legion, however, from Dylan's compassion to Beka's addiction. They were still more palatable and easier to understand than the Magog.

It was Harper that proved the hardest to understand over time for Tyr. He seemed straightforward at first: a human who used his mental acuity to make up for his weak body in the interest of survival, with benefits for his own self-interest, as demonstrated at Witchhead. But then he offered himself up as fodder for Jaeger, to protect the others, and he fought by Tyr's side against the Magog. And now, now he was standing in the gym in front of Tyr, asking to fight.

Tyr studied him yet again, a slight figure that somehow looked smaller without his belt and the tools of his trade, seeming grim and determined. Finally, Tyr said, "Why? You never have before and you have acquitted yourself adequately."

"Because 'before' was when I didn't have to fight a horde of Magog with a knife, and I wanna take as many of the bastards out as I can next time. The more ways I know how to do that, the better."

Tyr nodded, slowly. While he sincerely doubted that Harper would live to their next encounter with the worldship, he approved of the intent. Besides which, combat with a new opponent would sharpen his own skills. "Very well. Is that what you intend to fight in?"

"Do I have a choice when we get attacked?"

He approved of the statement. Furthermore, without the belt, there was nothing Harper wore that would hamper movement; of late his clothing had been narrower, more close-fitting. Even the colors were more subdued, as if he were trying to fade into the retrofitted corridors of the ship. "Whenever you're ready, then." He waited.

Harper barreled toward him in seconds, jaw set in determination. Tyr caught him easily and spun him off. Harper stopped, swung around, hesitated. This was initial, testing to see how they each reacted, moved. They both knew it. During the hesitation, Tyr reached out and grabbed Harper's arms, surprised when the smaller man quickly twisted away. He shouldn't have been, knowing the boy's background.

Slowly the balance shifted from testing to actual combat, the hits landing close together and harder, the grips more difficult to break. Harper held his own, although Tyr knew that given enough time he himself would undoubtedly triumph, the gift of his genetic legacy and hard work. He could see the human tiring as time went on.

Inevitably, Harper slipped. It was a sloppy throw, poorly recovered from, and Tyr caught him, spun him, pushed him back against one of the lifting machines and pinned him. "Do you give?"

"Lemme think about it," Harper said, the snarkiness evident. Tyr growled and pressed harder, the urge to defeat his enemy overpowering the knowledge that this was his ally, perhaps even a friend. The tiniest change in Harper's expression brought it back, a flash of fear and anger crossing his face at the growl.

Tyr let go immediately. It was unwise to offend those on your side, especially those as clever and vindictive as Harper. "Shall we do this again another time?"

Harper's expression cleared, bland now. "Yeah, sure. Thanks for the practice." He was gone almost immediately.

Tyr looked after him long after he was out of sight, wondering at the pressure he'd felt at his thigh when they were against the machine.

* * *

Tyr would not have been surprised if Harper had refused to come back. Not only had the end to their match been unsettling, for more than one reason, but he knew the Human had caught him watching over the next few days. What he had felt had been intriguing, and he wanted to know why a simple fight had caused that reaction. The aggression, perhaps? But he had never before smelled arousal on Harper after any kind of combat. He wondered, then, if it had been a reaction to Tyr himself.

Within a few days, he had his opportunity to find out. Harper appeared silently one day, a surprisingly somber figure at the edge of the mat while Tyr was lifting. He said nothing until Tyr set down the weights and stood to face him, then, "I want a rematch."

Tyr nodded, assessing as he did. Again the restrained clothing and the lack of a belt. He moved into position and waited. "Attack."

Harper did. This time there was no caution, no easing into it, but honest blows leveled at vulnerabilities. Now, however, Tyr had a new filter for the contact, was reading Harper's scent and responses differently and reacting differently himself to the sharp smell of the other man's sweat, the speed of his heart.

He drew it out, longer than he would in true combat, but at last he took Harper down to the mat and pinned him. Body to body, Harper could feel the effect on Tyr judging by his suddenly wide eyes, but he did not give or demand to be let go. Instead he continued to fight, ineffectual though it may have been with Tyr's greater weight on him. All he accomplished was a roll to his stomach.

Tyr was wondering if he should provide an opening, a plausible one, rather than let Harper wear himself out, when Harper went suddenly limp beneath him. Probably a trick, he knew, but he couldn't see the boy's face, and if he'd hurt him unintentionally— He let go, lifted off, rolled him over to check, and was greeted by a vicious smile before Harper swung his head up.

He narrowly avoided the headbutt and the tussle continued, his own unbalance giving Harper a momentary advantage. It was still only a matter of moments before Tyr had him pinned again, and this time Harper only struggled briefly before conceding. Tyr stood and pulled Harper to his feet immediately. "You might not want to cultivate a fighting technique that relies on your enemy's compassion," he advised, annoyed equally at Harper for reverting to it and himself for even considering that it was sincere.

Harper snorted. "I'm not about to try it with a Kalderan. Give me _some_ credit. But it works for a thief who's not ready to add murder to his resume, or," and his comment was pointed now, "for an Uber who wants his toy to fight back."

"_Dragons_," Tyr responded, in a tone of withering disgust. He chose to ignore the aim of it, knowing what Harper could have seen and felt with the close-fitting leather.

"Oh, and you never would?"

"Perhaps, if I had been brought up in such a pit of depravity as the Drago-Katsov Pride." He made his words as pointed as Harper's had been as he said, "I prefer my partners to be willing participants."

Harper had no immediate rejoinder. Tyr turned away to retrieve the towel he had set aside earlier and was still facing away when he said, "Just how do you define willing? Doesn't try too hard to get away?" Much of the earlier bite was gone now.

"One who comes to me of his own free will." Tyr wondered if this was in fact leading to anything, having made his decision that he would accept this new alliance were it to be offered. When he heard the steps, toward him rather than away, he turned to face Harper with his whole body tight with anticipation.

It was borne out when Harper came close. Putting his hands on Tyr's shoulders, he went up on his toes, and Tyr met him halfway in a kiss. When it broke, Harper's breathing ragged, Tyr asked quietly, "Why now?"

"Because having a death sentence over me makes me want to carpe the diem. And the Nietzschean." Harper stretched up for another kiss.

**The End**


End file.
